At the Crossroads
by IvyAdair
Summary: Inquisitor Trevelyan receives news from Ostwick: per family tradition, her marriage has been arranged. The man she is to marry is Sebastian Vael. Yet, she cannot forget the man she's pined over for months: Commander Cullen Rutherford. When both men take steps to woo her, Trevelyan finds herself conflicted and realizes that she must make a choice. Based on a K-Meme prompt.
1. White Ribbons

**AN: **Written for a K-Meme prompt:  
"Basically, either Inquisitor was promised in marriage before becoming Inquisitor or perhaps her family does so afterwards. Potential suitor is legit a good fit for her. Non-established relationship with Cullen."

This work is also posted on my A03 account. The link to which can be found on my profile. Please check there if you wish to see the link to the original prompt

_This work has not been proofread or edited by anyone other than myself. I acknowledge and apologize for any errors still present_

* * *

Leliana was cheating at chess again. For all the spymaster's talents at subterfuge, one would think the woman would be aware of her own tells. Yet, the way her left eye crinkled as she relaxed into the back of her chair after a move screamed her guilt. Cullen found himself smirking at Leliana's smug grin. He grasped his bishop in his gloved hand and picked up the piece to move it when the Inquisitor came barreling into the garden. Cullen turned his head just in time to see Trevelyan coming. The bishop slid between his leather-clad fingers and clattered back down to the board.

"Leliana?" Trevelyan called across the garden as she practically ran towards them.

"Inquisitor!" he said, rising from his seat in alarum.

The Spymaster smirked at him, seemingly amused at his gentlemanly ways before she inclined her head towards the Inquisitor. "Yes, what can I do for you, Inquisitor?"

"May I use one of your ravens please? I need to get a letter to Ostwick immediately."

"Oh?" the Spymaster replied, her accent sinking its teeth into her words. "Does this have anything to do with the news you received this morning?"

Trevelyan crossed her arms over her chest, her weight shifting to her back leg. "You know perfectly well that it does, Leliana. Now can I use the damn bird or not?"

Leliana laughed and Cullen looked back and forward between the two women. Finally, he swallowed and offered, "It was not bad news, I hope?"

The Inquisitor's eyes flashed to him, widening as if she had only just noticed that he was standing there. Her eyes drifted downwards as two white teeth appeared from underneath her top lip and pressed into the full flesh of her lower lip. Cullen felt his cheeks flushing and realized that his regard had been fixated on her mouth for longer than could ever be considered decorous. She glanced up at him and Cullen felt everything else in the world disappear from around them. Their eyes were locked, as if by magic itself. The only other sensation he was aware of was the thundering heartbeat in his chest.

She seemed to consider his words before answering. "It, it is not bad news per se; just rather…unexpected."

"Of course you may use a bird, Inquisitor. My ravens are at your disposal," Leliana's voice broke through the blurred edges of his vision.

Trevelyan blinked; pressing her lips together disquietly and looked back to Leliana as she nodded her thanks and left. It took Cullen several seconds of steeling himself, but finally he managed to turn his gaze back to the Spymaster.

She smiled at him knowingly, "you look flushed, Commander. Are you sure you're able to finish the game?"

Fixing the Spymaster with a half-hearted glare, Cullen returned to his seat at last. He smoothed down the legs of his trousers as he settled before picking up his rook and making his move across the board.

"Odd to see the Inquisitor so worked up," he said absentmindedly, mostly to break the silence he found uncomfortable.

"Not so odd, I think," Leliana replied as she gleefully took his proffered pawn. "She received a letter from Ostwick this morning. Inside was a dried common myrtle, wrapped in a white ribbon."

Cullen blinked at her. "And?"

"You are unfamiliar with the custom? It is a tradition amongst the Marcher nobility, I believe."

"The Inquisitor is the only noble I've spent any length of time with, Leliana."

She shrugged and watched him carefully as he reached for his queen. "It means that Trevelyan's arranged marriage has been agreed upon."

His hand slipped and knocked over half of their pieces. His king, her rook and both of their queens clattered to the stone below. Leliana's gaze flicked between the scattered remnants of their game and his frozen flustered face.

"She…what?"

. . .

_To her Worship, The Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

_My Darling Daughter,_

_I understand your trepidation, dear, but I believe if you only met your betrothed, you'd find yourself as eager as your father and I are for this match. The young man in question is handsome, polite, titled, pious and did I mention handsome? For the Maker's sake, darling, he's a Prince! He's a better match than I was able to procure for even dear Philip even with Phillip inheriting your father's Bannorn. I understand your hesitation, I was hesitant at first when I was told I'd marry your father, but we've had many happy years together and your father is not nearly as handsome and amiable as the Prince._

_And, I didn't want to have to pull this card, darling, but it is tradition. Now, we were willing to let such things slide with you, being the youngest, but you've had ten years to find yourself a love match and you're the Inquisitor now. Youngest or no, you will forever outrank your father and I and all of your brothers and sisters. You must marry and you must marry well._

_But, I do know you, my stubborn girl, and I know that you will never be satisfied unless the decision is yours and as I said your word is of a higher value so, I propose this: invite the Prince to Skyhold and meet with him. I know that you'll be as taken with him as I was. And, as I know will dither around with such a decision, I already sent a bird to Starkhaven in your stead. He'll arrive within the fortnight. You'll thank me when you see him._

_All my love,_

_Mother_

Trevelyan groaned softly and let her eyes shift over her mother's gracefully looped handwriting for the fifth time. Maker's breath, she was twenty-eight years old and still her mother never ceased to embarrass her. She loved her mother, of course, but the woman was just insufferable at times. She sighed, put her mother's letter down and picked up the letter her mother had enclosed with her own, this one written in a neat, masculine hand.

_To her Worship, The Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

_My Lady,_

_You have done me a great honor twice over with your kind invitation. Firstly, to have the opportunity to see you after hearing of your praises from your mother, I confess makes my heart feel lighter than it has felt in many years. Secondly, to see the legendary Skyhold and the Inquisition do the Maker's work in person is a privilege I had not previously considered myself lucky enough to have. I shall arrive at Skyhold in a fortnight._

_I anxiously await making your acquaintance, Lady Inquisitor. My the light of the Maker shine upon you._

_In Faith,_

_Sebastian Vael_

His letter was polite and not entirely unpleasant. While Trevelyan considered he might have been a bit too generous with praise and deference, he had at least made an attempt to be sincere. Her mind drifted to the Winter Palace and the hundreds of letters filled saccharine-laced lies that had been sent to her. Each suitor promising their devotion, requesting to serve at the altar of her beauty, Trevelyan could hardly stand it. Empty flattery was akin to an insult, in her mind, and to be pelted with it from every available Theodosian with a drop of noble blood sickened her. Though, Trevelyan could faintly recall that she had received no letters from Starkhaven until she received the one she held in her hand. That had to count for something, she supposed. It wasn't as if she was wholly opposed to the idea of marrying or even opposed to an arranged match. She'd grown up with the custom and Trevelyan was a practical woman. It was just that she had hoped…if only….

Sighing, Trevelyan put the letter back on her desk. Her personal desires mattered little, she knew. Trevelyan was conflicted. A part of her, a silly foolish part, had such hopes for things that were not likely to ever be hers and there was the other part, the logical and practical side of her mind that could weigh the benefit and the loss of everything and ensure that she came out successful. Yet, never before had these aspects of herself been so much at war.

At least, given his kind words, Trevelyan could meet him for herself and see if he was everything her mother's letter had promised

* * *

Okay so here's what happened.

I found this prompt on part...5 or 6 of the DA K-Meme back in I think early February and I LOVED it. I wanted to write it so bad and had a million ideas for it. But, there was already a ton of interest in it and I didn't want to step on someone's toes by barging in with my work. So I left the idea alone, sadly, and moved on to begin writing Freedom's Song. Then, the prompt gets reposted and I knew I _had_ to jump on it. So that is why I'm starting a second long fic prior to finishing my first. In case people get grumbly. But, most everyone who reads my stuff is sweet and wonderful so I think we'll be okay.

Ahh. I do love this though. I'm so excited for it. I just hope work calms down enough for me to begin a regular posting schedule.


	2. Introductions

This work is also posted on my A03 account. The link to which can be found on my profile. Please check there if you wish to see the link to the original prompt

_This work has not been proofread or edited by anyone other than myself. I acknowledge and apologize for any errors still present_

* * *

Cullen wasn't entirely certain if it was fire or ice burning through his gullet as he stormed out of the garden. His boots thundered against the hard packed earth and clunked heavily against the ancient stone as he let his legs carry himself elsewhere. He had no immediate direction in mind, as all his thoughts were funneled into one central, screaming idea: _her marriage has been arranged_. Any other functions his brain was capable of were focused directly on the overwhelming need he had to just _get out_.

He'd hoped…that is to say he wanted….

Maker, he couldn't even voice his own thoughts properly. His emotions spun around like a child's top. In the span of a few moments, he felt himself grow angry (_who in Andraste's name still arranged marriages?_), to forlorn_ (if only there had been more time!) _and beyond into desperation (_there must be something to be done about this_) as well as every other emotion in between. It was as if he couldn't settle on a single solitary state of being. Belatedly, he realized that he'd accidentally carried a pawn off the chessboard. He gripped it in his hand and growled before throwing it childishly off into the valley below Skyhold. As the small wooden piece left his hand and arced through the air, Cullen felt immediate regret. Chessboards and other leisurely activities were few and far between in Skyhold, and the residents of the mighty hold deserved whatever fun they could find. There was no need to make the entire Inquisition suffer because his heart had been….

No, he couldn't go there, not yet. Maybe not ever, now that she was to be with another.

Those were thoughts for another moment, for a time when he was alone in his room and away from the prying eyes of his soldiers and the rest of the Inquisition. When he could rack his armor, figuratively and literally, and be _Cullen_ rather than the Commander. Instead, he gave himself a new direction, a purpose; an activity that would distract his thoughts from veering sharply to the left again.

It was a short jaunt down to the makeshift marketplace. Cullen allowed himself to become enveloped in the sights and sounds of Skyhold's daily activities. He could hear the clanging of Cassandra's sword as it collided against the practice dummy. The distant sound of Bull's raucous laughter over the delicate lilt of Maryden's voice drifted down to his ears from an open window in the tavern. Dozens of people were milling about the courtyard and normally, Cullen would be able to catch some snippets of conversation as he passed. Yet, as passed by all conversations stopped and he felt what seemed like hundreds of eyes upon his body as he made his way across the open area. Cullen kept his spine steel straight and his hands tightly clenched at his sides as he approached the market stall. He opened his mouth to speak to the masked Orlesian woman, but as he was about to voice his request for a replacement chess set, a familiar voice cut him off.

"I need a bottle of ink," the Inquisitor called to merchant. Cullen instinctively turned towards the voice and caught Trevelyan's gaze. Her eyes widened sharply as she exclaimed, "oh! Commander, hello."

"Inquisitor," Cullen answered, suddenly realizing that he was unable to maintain eye contact with her. "Hello."

"You were here before me. Please forgive my rudeness."

"No, I was only going to inquire after a replacement chess set."

"Replacement?"

"Yes I, ah, have misplaced one of the pawns."

"Oh."

"You need ink?"

She blinked, "ah, yes. I have been writing a number of letters of late, it didn't seem appropriate to spend Inquisition funds on my personal correspondence."

Heavy silence fell between them. The air itself felt as if it were pushing down upon his shoulders. He tried to look nonchalant, as if his mind wasn't racing with thousands of questions. As if every thought in his mind at that moment didn't somehow lead back to her. Above all, he tried not to stare as those two small teeth appeared, pressing into the flesh of her bottom lip.

At last, he forced himself to say, "I understand congratulations are in order."

"How did you-?" she began, turning sharply towards him. After a second, she sighed, "Leliana."

Cullen nodded, not trusting his voice.

"It's not…I mean, nothing is final yet. It's still my choice, I suppose in the end. He's coming to Skyhold within the fortnight, so we an meet and I guess…see what happens."

"Oh, that's good then." One of her eyebrows shot up questioningly as he realized what he'd said. "I mean, not that it's good that you may not be getting married. It's good that you will be able to say no. I-if you wanted to, that is."

He watched as her gaze veered sharply to the side. Following her, he glanced over his shoulder and saw nearly every pair of eyes in the courtyard was watching them closely, including Sera, Blackwall and Dorian. Sera and Blackwall stood together by the stables, with Sera making a rude gesture with her fingers while making kissing noises. Blackwall, to his credit, was at least making an attempt to not laugh. He could see Dorian standing next to another market stand, smirk planted square on his face.

"Maker's breath," Cullen muttered, feeling his cheeks growing ever warmer.

Trevelyan sighed before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I'll just make due with what I have left. Please excuse me, Commander."

She spared him little more than a parting glance before she turned and briskly walked away from the courtyard. Cullen stared after her, watching her disappear up the side stairs by the stables and into the kitchens.

"Ah, _la splendeur des coeurs perdus_," the Orlesian merchant sighed wistfully, pulling Trevelyan from her thoughts.

"Pardon?"

"You and the Inquisitor, Commander. You, the handsome Commander in love with a woman who can never be his and she, the woman married to a man she does not love. A doomed romance of star-crossed lovers, ah _c'est magnifique_."

He fixed her with a glare he normally reserved for his soldiers.

"Don't be ridiculous."

. . .

The sounds of traveling had always soothed Sebastian. The rickety, clacking wheels of carriages as they clattered against rocks and cobblestones lulled him into a state of relaxation he'd always associated with his childhood. He'd spent years traveling with his family, riding in the royal carriage perched on his mother's lap until he became too big and was relegated to seat of his own. There was even a certain enjoyment in the sensation of the carriage swaying as it moved across Thedas, despite his older brother complaining that motion made him feel ill.

Even as an adult, Perhaps it was the enjoyment of such sensations that had kept him from succumbing to what his Orlesian manservant had called 'the mal de mer' during the voyage from Kirkwall to Jader. Yet, despite his journey being smooth and hassle-free, the chantry brother's heart was uneasy. He wasn't a fool. He knew that his invitation to meet the Inquisitor had come via Ostwick, as opposed to Skyhold. The Inquisition was known for its use of ebon-black ravens in its correspondence. It was a little touch of the dramatic on behalf of the spymaster, one of the last telltale signs of her life before as the Nightingale. The bird that arrived with his invitation looked remarkably similar to the hawk the Inquisitor's parents had been sending and yet, he hadn't received a letter asking him to cancel or delay his journey. In fact, he'd heard nothing out of Skyhold in the entire time that he'd been discussing the terms of his potential marriage to the Trevelyan's youngest child. That wasn't entirely odd, as the potential partner was rarely ever involved in the planning of such events. For the Bride to be a woman of such standing as the Inquisitor, however, was most unusual. Even more so that she didn't seem to even be aware of impending nuptials. Sebastian's only hope was that he would not arrive at Skyhold to a completely oblivious Inquisitor. He prayed to the Maker that her mother had at least informed her of their arrangement.

Of course, such arrangements were only valid if the Inquisitor agreed to them. He wouldn't dream of forcing marriage on to a woman, let alone one so powerful as the Herald herself.

The carriage came to a stop, the sudden motion jarring Sebastian from his reverie. He leaned forward, hand instinctively reaching for the bow across his lap as he looked outside to see where they had stopped.

"Prince Sebastian," the voice of the driver drifted down to him. "We have gone as far as we can. Your must complete the journey on horseback."

"On horseback?"

"Aye, your highness, the path to Skyhold is too treacherous for the carriage to traverse."

"Understood, thank you for your service."

Sebastian hitched the Starkhaven Longbow on to his shoulder as he clambered out of the carriage. The sudden cold breeze of mountain air hit his face, whipping his hair about his eyes and left his lungs burning. He stepped out of the way to let his manservant climb out after him and couldn't stop the wry chuckle from escaping him as he heard the man curse behind him.

"_Merde_!" As Sebastian turned to smirk at the man, the servant blushed to the roots of his blonde hair. "Oh, apologies your highness."

Still chuckling, Sebastian looked around to get his bearings. The carriage stopped at a base camp a small ways up the Frostbacks. He craned his neck upwards, but couldn't see a single stone or sign of Skyhold. He could remember hearing the news that the fledgling Inquisition had survived the Elder One's assault on Haven and had escaped to a hidden fortress in the mountains. Standing at the foothills, he could easily see how the Inquisition had remained hidden long enough to heal and grow. To his left and down a gentle slope, Sebastian could see the camps dotting the landscape around them. On his right was a path that looked as if it had once belonged to goats, rather than a force as mighty as the Inquisition. At its mouth, he could see a dwarf clad in Inquisition armor talking and pointing to the penitents that slowly streamed in to the trailhead. For the most part, it appeared that they were being turned away from the path.

"If you're here to join the Inquisition head to the camps and talk to Captain Declan for your orders. If you're here on pilgrimage, go to the camps and ask for Sister Sascha," the dwarf repeated tiredly as Sebastian approached him.

"I'm Sebastian Vael, I have business with the Inquisitor."

The dwarf's eyes widened as he let his eyes rake over Sebastian's form. "Oh, so you're _him_." Before Sebastian could question exactly what that meant, the dwarf continued, "well, handsome, you've just cost me a sov'. Path should be clear, you can take your horses up whenever you're ready."

Sebastian glanced to the path, then back to the dwarf. "How does the Inquisitor traverse the path?"

The dwarf blinked. "What?"

"How does the Inquisitor travel this path? Does she go on foot or horse?"

"On foot," the dwarf answered, bemused.

"Then we'll go on foot ourselves."

A light breeze of mountain air blew in through the Inquisitor's open balcony doors, ruffling her hair and caressing her skin with its feather-light touch. Trevelyan breathed in deeply, savoring the cool freshness of the mountain air. The breeze distracted her, the sensations over her skin pulling her away from the mind-numbing boredom that was political correspondence. If she was honest with herself, there were times when she'd bitterly stare at the stack of letters she had to write and wonder how in the Maker's name she'd been the one to be saddled with such a burden. She was the youngest, the forgotten one. The child whom was not expected to amount to anything beyond securing her parents a prestigious alliance with marriage. Trevelyan sighed, set down her quill and stretched. Her muscles screamed at her; her back ached from sitting in the chair at her desk and her fingers throbbed from holding the quill for too long.

A sharp knock on her door startled her, temporarily causing the pain to retreat back into her body and lie in wait until the next quiet moment to make itself known. She called for the person to enter, rising from her seat so as to not be rude. One of Leliana's people slowly ascended the staircase up to the Inquisitor's rooms, looking around himself carefully, as if he was trying to commit each detail to memory. Trevelyan cleared her throat, and the boy jumped a little.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Your worship, Sister Leliana wishes me to tell you that she's just received word from the camps. The Prince's carriage arrived and he's making the trek up the mountain."

Trevelyan blanched. Maker, he was early. "Has Ambassador Montilyet been informed?"

"Yes, your worship"

Trevelyan nodded, pulling her gaze away from the messenger. She went 'round her desk, grabbing the finished correspondence that needed to go out. If he was to return to Leliana, it'd save her a trip and give her time to prepare herself before her potential beloved arrived.

"Thank you. Are you going back to Leliana?"

"Not yet, your worship. I have orders to inform Commander Cullen of the Prince's arrival as well."

Her grip went suddenly slack and her papers fell like snow to the floor. Cursing under her breath, she fell to her knees and tried to gather up the pieces of parchment. She knew her cheeks were red, but kept her jaw clenched as she righted herself. The messenger smiled meekly at her and offered to take her pages and send them off when he went back to Leliana after speaking to Cullen. Not trusting her voice, she nodded and stiffly shoved the papers into his hands. When he disappeared down the stairs, at long last Trevelyan let herself loosen and she slumped against the edge of desk, groaning softly. Her hands cupped her cheeks, as she huffed and let herself breathe for a moment before smoothing down her hair and clothes. Straightening, she pushed away from the desk and held her spine iron straight as she readied herself for whatever it was the Maker had in store for her.

It was a widely known fact in the Marches that the Trevelyans were an extremely devout clan. In fact, tradition had almost sent Trevelyan herself into the chantry. First when she was barely out of swaddling clothes, her parents had wanted to give her to the chantry to become a sister and later, after she had proven her martial skills, as a Templar. The Inquisitor's Great Aunt Lucille, had put her foot down and forbidden the Bann and his wife from sending their youngest away. The Trevelyan matriarch long predicted that the Bann's youngest would outshine the rest of the family in both power and station, though at the time it as assumed that Lucille had simply grown fond of the child and did not wish to see her shut up inside a chantry or bound by the chains of duty to the Order. Yet, though she did not wear shining silverite plate engraved with the sword of mercy or the robes of a priestess, the Inquisitor was still very much bound by the same chains: duty or dishonor and the Maker above all things; it was the Trevelyan way.

So, even though fear gripped at her spine and dread coiled up in her belly, Trevelyan opened the door to her chambers and made her way out into the main courtyard. She climbed the steps up to the landing where she had accepted her role as Inquisitor, her soft boots thudding against the stone. It seemed oddly fitting that the landing would host another potentially life-turning moment for the Inquisitor. Josephine was already awaiting her with a bright smile as the Inquisitor crested the final step. Trevelyan offered her Antivan friend a greeting by way of a nod, as she wasn't entirely sure she trusted her voice to speak clearly. To look at her, she appeared to be the picture of calm. As if, she was meeting any other of the many dignitaries that came to Skyhold. Yet, a well-trained eye could spot the subtle way her hands shook as she tugged nervously at the bottom of her purple-grey leather jerkin. Belatedly, she wondered if her mother had adequately prepared the Prince for the sort of lifestyle Trevelyan lived. If he expected her to be a woman in ruffles and corsets that sat upon a throne while the rest of the Inquisition got their hands dirty, then he was in for a rude awakening.

Her elder sisters may have been content to live their lives in such a manner, but not the Inquisitor. Even if sealing the rifts dotting across Ferelden and Orlais didn't call for her to physically use the ancient elvhen magic that had bound itself to her, Trevelyan was not the sort of woman to let others do work she was capable of doing on her own. Trevelyan was not the sort of woman to deign herself to become a living decoration for the sake of her mother's designs and as much as she was sure her mother would have wanted her dressed formally for this occasion, Trevelyan knew that it was better to let the Prince know immediately where her convictions lay.

She forced herself to remain still, even though her body was screaming to pace or fidget in some manner. She kept her eyes peeled to the gate and the horizon of the path that lay beyond it. Leliana joined them on the landing a moment or so later and immediately flashed a bright, knowing smile towards the Inquisitor. Yet before Trevelyan had a chance to respond a tall, blonde figure appeared behind her and Trevelyan found all of her words suddenly swallowed up. Cullen looked utterly miserable. Whether it was from the pomp and circumstance of meeting yet another noble, or something _more_, Trevelyan could not presume to wonder. While perhaps there was an inkling of hope that his misery was over the meeting of her intended, Trevelyan knew she could not afford such thinking.

Duty came first, as always.

Several minutes passed of tense silence passed, punctuated but the occasional whisper shared between Leliana and Josephine.

Finally, Trevelyan turned to face her advisors, "shouldn't he have arrived by now?"

"Is it possible your man was mistaken, Leliana?" Cullen asked.

"No, Commander, Torkin was quite insistent that the Prince had arrived."

"Perhaps he lamed his horse?" Trevelyan murmured.

"Oh!" Josephine gasped as she pointed to the gate, "No, look someone is arriving."

The other three heads snapped in the direction of Josephine's pointing finger. At the mouth of the large gates, Trevelyan could see two men approach. Though she had an excellent vantage point, she was somewhat disappointed to see that she could make few features out on their faces save for the color of their hair.

"He's…_walking_," Trevelyan breathed.

Subconsciously, Trevelyan straightened her spine and gave her jerkin one last tug. Her heart beat wildly against her chest, so fiercely she was sure it was visible through the leather of her of clothes. Still, ever the noble lady, she forced herself to remain still as she watched the Prince and his companion approach. They crossed the courtyard and headed towards the stairs as those milling about the open area stopped and watched the odd pageantry. The two men, both of a similar age became clearer and clearer and Trevelyan realized that he mother had not actually described or given her a likeness of the Prince. They came to stop in front of her, one of them blonde and bored looking while the other had the most piercing pair of blue eyes Trevelyan had ever seen. She felt her cheeks redden as she found herself unable to stop staring at his handsome countenance. He smiled brightly, sincerely at her, as if he was truly happy to be in her company. He and his companion bent at the waist simultaneously, though the Prince's eyes never left hers. As soon as he straightened, the Inquisitor returned the bow and was sure that her advisors had done the same.

Josephine took a small step forward and spoke, "Your worship, may I present to you his royal highness, Prince Vael of Starkhaven. Your highness, may I present her Worship the Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan."

. . .

The path to Skyhold had been peaceful and Sebastian was grateful for the brief interlude before he met the Inquisitor. It gave him a chance to collect his thoughts and bury the feelings the lingered within him like ghosts of the past.

Then as his eyes locked on to the Inquisitor for the first time, Sebastian felt the lingering doubts and stray feelings disappear. Her mother had shown him her likeness, but the small portrait he saw did not compare to the real thing. She was, quite simply, beautiful. She held herself with confidence, even in the face of such a nerve-wracking moment in both their lives. To look at her, one would assume that he was simply another visiting dignitary. He felt himself smiling brighter as the Inquisition's Ambassador made the proper introductions.

"It is my great honor to meet you, your worship."

She smiled at him then, "the honor is mine, your highness. If you'd be so kind, I'd like to introduce you to my advisors. Your highness, my I present Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, Sister Leliana and Commander Cullen Rutherford."

"Ah, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ambassador Montilyet," Sebastian replied. "And, it is an honor to see you both again, Sister Leliana and Commander Cullen."

The Inquisitor blinked, "you know each other?"

"Oh yes, Inquisitor," Leliana said, smirking. "The Commander and Prince Vael were both in Kirkwall at the same time and the divine saw fit to dispatch me on a mission where I was fortunate enough to make his highness's acquaintance."

Sebastian watched as a flicker passed across the Inquisitor's face. Her eyes swept downcast, as if contemplating something, but in the next moment any trace of whatever had passed through her mind had disappeared. His eyes flicked over to Cullen, whom he realized had been quite silent since his arrival. Sebastian was surprised to find that Cullen was staring coldly at him, all traces of their friendship in Kirkwall gone. He had come to know the former Knight-Captain well, as part of Sebastian's duties had been to see to the well being of the Templars. All those years ago, the two of them had struck up a friendship of sorts and as far as Sebastian knew, he had not done anything to make the other man hold ill will towards him. When Cullen's eyes flicked to the Inquisitor and his demeanor changed sharply, Sebastian understood perfectly.

* * *

I am so completely horrified at how long it took for me to get this together. I literally lost a month to work. Its never been this bad before, I apologize profusely. I don't feel right in promising that it won't be another long wait, but I really really plan on it not being this long again. This chapter is also rather short, i just really wanted to put it out there and just get this fic updated a little bit.


	3. Seven Arrows

This work is also posted on my A03 account. The link to which can be found on my profile. Please check there if you wish to see the link to the original prompt

_This work has not been proofread or edited by anyone other than myself. I acknowledge and apologize for any errors still present_

* * *

Of all the great men in the world who could ever compete for her hand, the Inquisitor's betrothed just had to be _him_. Sebastian Vael or rather _Prince_ Vael, as he was now to be called, was nothing if not a sign that the Maker had it out for Cullen. Not only would he have to sit by and watch as the woman he lov-, cared fo-, thought-of-highly was married off, he'd have to watch while it was his friend was the who did it.

In the end, all Cullen could do was watch jealously as the Inquisitor and Sebastian walked side by side, away from him.

He swallowed hard, grit his teeth together and turned on his heel. He forced his legs to move, though each step felt like he was moving through the Ferelden mud. The walk up the ancient stone stairs and across the battlements towards his office was painful. He willed his eyes to remain straightforward, lest he show a poor example to his soldiers. He was the Commander and he needed to be unflappable to them, a picture of stoicism and cool control, _not_ a silly, foolish man.

Cullen had managed to get inside, shut the door and collapse against it for at least thirty seconds before the second door burst open. He jumped from the sudden sound and groaned as over Sera, Blackwall and Dorian strode inside his small office. Sera walked across the room and immediately perched herself on his desk while Blackwall rested himself against the other door, crossing his arms over his chest. Dorian stole Cullen's chair, crossing his hands behind his head as he rested his feet against the edge of the desk.

"What do you want?" Cullen asked tiredly.

"How are you holding up, Commander?" Dorian asked in a tone softer than Cullen would have expected the man to use.

Cullen blinked. "Fine, why do you ask?"

"Saw your Prince down there," Sera replied. "Wanted to know what you're gonna do about 'im."

"I don't quite follow."

"Come on, Cullen. You'd have to be blind to see the way you look at the Inquisitor," Blackwall said, chuckling.

Cullen sighed and rose from the doorway. He gripped the sides of his coat and adjusted the fabric against his armored frame. "Well, you are quite mistaken. I feel nothing for the Inquisitor beyond the feelings of respect and admiration for her work in the service of Thedas."

"Oh I see," Dorian said, a smirk curling on his features. "If you say it enough times, you hope that you'll believe it?"

The Commander felt his cheeks grow hot and he prayed to the Maker that he wasn't turning bright red under their careful scrutiny. "Even if I had feelings for the Inquisitor, I would never be so bold as to believe myself in any way worthy of her affection. She is a remarkable woman to be sure but, she is a noble-born lady and I am nothing outside of the Inquisition."

"You're a good man."

"Many people care that I am nothing," Cullen replied, looking away from the group. "Her parents, the Chantry, the rest of the Thedas nobility and perhaps even Trevel- I mean, the Inquisitor herself."

His three unwelcome guests all rose to standing positions simultaneously and burst into passionate protests:

"That's a load of-"

"Now really, Comman-"

"You can't just giv-"

"Enough!" Cullen cried, holding his hands up to silence them. "The Inquisitor's family has arranged her marriage to Prince Vael, there is nothing to be done about it."

Dorian rose from Cullen's chair, grabbed Sera and pulled her towards Blackwall at the door. "Well, Commander, should you change your mind. You know where to find us."

Cullen watched as the three of them left his office and let their words mull in his mind. He went to his desk and sat, resting his elbows on the hard wood surface. Cradling his face in his hands, he let out a soft, exasperated sigh. Even if he were a noble, why would Trevelyan choose him over Vael? Cullen was a wreck, wracked with want for that Maker-damned lyrium. Vael was whole where he was broken, full where Cullen was empty, bright to Cullen's dark and could offer Trevelyan the world. Everything that Cullen owned fit into a single chamber. Were he in the same social sphere as the Inquisitor, how would he even set about trying to court her?

He sighed and straightened himself in his chair as he took a report off of his desk and forced himself to focus on it. There was little point in pining for a woman that would never be his.

. . .

The following day Trevelyan rose early, grabbing her bow and fled the restrictive confines of the stone walls before the rest of the castle, save for the serving staff, had begun to stir. She took a quick detour through the kitchen and gratefully took a pastry from the flustered cook and made her way out to the archery target that had been set up for her use. As soon as the cold, morning air hit her skin, she felt the grip of anxiety loosen its hold. With a small smile on her face, she took off at a run across the courtyard. Her feet flew across the open space, her soft boots made even softer crunching sounds through the broken stones and dew-covered blades of grass. She stuffed the pastry into her mouth as she moved, knowing there was no one around to judge her boorish manners.

It was longer a longer run, down the stairs leading from the kitchen, across the small market area and back up the stairs in front of the tavern but the exhilaration of feeling the wind against her skin made the last of the tension ease from her shoulders. When she finally made it to the small training area behind the tavern, Trevelyan felt as she had before her mother's letter had made its way into her life. She took the quiver of arrows she'd tucked into a small nook in the brick wall of the tavern and swung the leather over her shoulder.

She rolled head around on her neck and breathed slowly, in and out before hoisting her bow. She squeezed the grip, causing the soft leather to squeak under the pressure of her hold. Staring down the sights, she pushed every other thought from her mind. Gone was her mother, the letter and the arranged marriage; gone was Prince Vael, his piercing blue eyes and the incredible gesture of him walking up the path; and gone was Cullen, that scar on his lip and the way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was nervous. Her entire existence was nothing more than a series of movements pulled from her muscle memory.

Trevelyan lifted her hand behind her head, grasped an arrow and nocked it. She pulled the bowstring back until her fingers curled around the string touched her cheek, stared down through the sights, and lined up her shot. Letting her breath flow out through her teeth, she loosed the arrow and watched as it slammed into the target in front of her with a resounding thud, just an inch short of the bull's eye. She didn't think as she pulled another arrow from the quiver, nocked it and loosed it in short succession. Her second attempt landed just inside the red ring, but she didn't stop to celebrate. Instead, another arrow was pulled from the quiver and the process repeated.

Seven arrows flew into the target before she finally sighed and lowered her bow. Two of the shots had gone wide as little niggling thoughts had attempted to invade her mind. One shot, she was particularly proud, had managed to hit nearly dead center. Trevelyan set her bow down and went to retrieve her arrows. With the arrows safely returned to the quiver, she began the process over again. Trevelyan was so absorbed in her task and the effort of keeping her mind free, she didn't hear the sounds of dirt and stone crunching beneath boots behind her.

"You're an archer?" a man with an astonished brogue asked her. Trevelyan's concentration shattered and she dropped the bowstring in surprise, causing the arrow to arc wide and completely miss the target. She whirled around, cheeks burning hot with the shame. Prince Vael stood before her and before she could open her mouth to reply, his face contorted in something akin to embarrassment. "Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry, my lady. I thought you heard me approach."

She swallowed and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "No, I'm afraid I was quite…absorbed. But it's quite all right, Prince Vael."

"Please, call me Sebastian."

. . .

Letting out a soft breath, Sebastian surveyed the courtyard below him from the balcony in his quarters. It was early, the sun barely up and the wind still wet from the night. The Prince let his mind wander as the sun kissed the skin of his cheeks and the mountain air rustled a few strands of his light brown hair.

Skyhold was every bit the wonder that Sebastian had heard and the Inquisitor was every bit the beauty her mother had promised. Even through their limited interaction, Sebastian could see that Trevelyan was a woman worthy of the praise lavished upon her. She'd maintained a gracious and cool manner, even with the awkwardness of their meeting. Skyhold was her domain and Sebastian knew his presence was disruptive, but Trevelyan had hid it well. It was an admirable quality and an uncommon one.

His swiftly moving current of thoughts haltered as he watched the figure of a woman sprint across the courtyard below him. She had a bow slung over her shoulder and from her clothing, he could tell she wasn't an Inquisition soldier. Suddenly giddy, he realized that there had to be a practice range nearby and he was eager to get some exercise and practice in. He donned his shining white armor, picked up his Starkhaven bow and took off in a jog out of the castle and into the direction he'd seen the woman.

The familiar thunk of arrows hitting a target hit his ears as he neared the area he'd been told was a tavern. Tucked just out of sight he could see the target range and a woman standing in front of it, aiming her bow. As she let go of her bowstring and loosed her arrow, she tossed her head back and Sebastian realized with a start that the woman was in fact, the Lady Inquisitor. He watched her carefully as she pulled another arrow from her quiver and nocked it.

Sebastian felt himself smiling as he asked, "you're an archer?"

Her concentration seemed to shatter as she dropped the string and her arrow went wide. Hot shame seemed to pool in his cheeks as he stumbled over himself to apologize. Her stormy features relaxed a little as she accepted his apology and when he asked her to call him by his Andrastrian name, she seemed to relax completely.

"Very well, Sebastian. My friends call me Trevelyan."

He grinned brighter in spite of himself and quickly coughed to duck his head and cover his cheeks that he was sure were burning bright red. He cleared his throat and gestured to the target range behind her, "your mother didn't mention that you're an archer."

She laughed at that. "She wouldn't. My mother wouldn't consider anything martial important enough to recommend me."

Sebastian stuck his thumb in the direction of the bow slung over his shoulder. "It's important to me."

The polite smile on her face slid and for a moment, Sebastian swore he saw the real Trevelyan with a gentle but astonished smile on her face. Her eyes drifted across his weapon and without a word, he reached behind him to pull it from his shoulder. He held it out for her. Sebastian couldn't fight the warm, stirring feeling in the pit of his belly as he watched her small hands drift across the surface of his bow.

"This is a beautiful weapon," she murmured as she lifted the bow, testing its weight.

"It belonged to my grandfather," he explained. "The bow is the wise man's weapon, he always said."

Trevelyan smiled genuinely and handed his bow back to him.

"Mine is far less grand, I'm afraid." She retrieved her bow from the ground and held it up for him. It was a simple longbow, with plain wood and a leather grip. "I've been meaning to commission Harritt for a better one. I actually had a nicer bow, but it was destroyed when Corypheus was defeated. I don't know if I have the heart to replace it."

"This is still a fine weapon and really, it's the archer that matters. The fastest arrow from finest bow in all of the Thedas would still miss if loosed by a poor archer."

"I suppose that is true. Are you-"

Her sentence was cut short by the arrival of an Inquisition soldier, armed with a stack of papers. The young man looked embarrassed as he shoved the papers into Trevelyan's hands. The messenger's cheeks were tinged pink as he nervously glanced between Sebastian and Trevelyan. Despite the interruption, the man seemed too nervous for Sebastian to be upset. He offered the man a kind smile, which only seemed to further mortify the messenger.

"Begging your pardon my lady, I have an urgent report for you to read."

The Inquisitor had little choice but to accept the papers from his shaking hands. Chewing on her bottom lip, she rifled quickly through the pages. Her eyes scanned over each line of text carefully but occasionally flicked back up to the messenger. Finally she said, "These are kitchen requisitions."

The young man stammered, "Y-yes, I was told that you n-needed to see them."

She sighed and handed the papers out for him to take. "I'm quite sure that the kitchen is in good hands, thank you Jim."

"Oh, Inquisitor, I-I was also supposed to tell you that," he hesitated, as if searching for his words. "That, uh, Commander Cullen wishes you to be present for the uh, troop inspection this morning."

"Oh? That's odd, he's never asked me to attend an inspection before," Trevelyan murmured thoughtfully. She gave a soft shrug, "very well, tell the Commander I'll be there."

"Do you mind if I join you? I'd love to see the troops in their colors."

For a brief moment, he thought he heard the messenger heave a weary sigh. But no, Sebastian had to have just been imagining things.

. . .

The brisk morning air did wonders to push the remnants of the nightmares away from Cullen's mind. He took a stroll across the battlements every morning to rouse his tired body awake and to refresh his mind. If his route happened to take him right near the small archery range by the tavern at the same time the Inquisitor was usually out practicing, it was purely coincidence. He tried to only watch as he passed by, rather than seeking her out and stopping to stare. There was a fine line, he knew, between admiration and discomfort.

He enjoyed the moments he got to see her holding her bow. Cullen could remember all to well the look of heartache on her face when her old bow had been found smashed in the aftermath of the battle. She made due with a plain longbow, but Cullen knew she longed for something as grand as her last weapon. She was graceful when she had a bow in her hand, but there was a certain strength in the way that she lifted her arms that spoke of her dedication to her martial training. He wished that he could go down to the training area with her, watch her up close as her arrows sunk into the targets.

Cullen paused, realizing that instead of the familiar thunk of her arrows hitting their marks, he heard laughter. He whirled around in the direction of the range, dropping all pretenses. Below the courtyard he could see the familiar white armor of Sebastian Vael shining in the morning sunlight. He was walking side by side with Trevelyan, the pair laughing at whatever they were discussion. All he could do was watch as Sebastian bent low, picked a small dandelion, and held it out to the Inquisitor. Cullen cursed under his breath and forced himself to turn away from the scene. He paced swiftly, a few strides in each direction before he nodded to himself. He took off in a great stride towards the Inquisition quarters.

Standing in front of a wooden door, identical to each door across the entire corridor, Cullen raised his gloved hand and knocked twice. "Dorian, I've changed my mind."

* * *

As I said on a03, I stayed up all night to get this finished for Cullen Week. If you notice anything strange, that's why! Thank you so much for reading.

As always, you can find me on my tumblr. The link to which is on my profile page. 3


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